


The Flash is sick

by ClaraCivry (Kat_Of_Dresden)



Category: Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types, The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: ALL THE GOOD THINGS, Angst and Feels, Barry Whump, Broken Bones, Coughing Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fainting, Fever, Hugs, Hurt Barry, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Major Character Injury, Non-Consensual Touching, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Sharing Body Heat, Sickfic, Sickness, Stress, Tears, Whump, also a bit of Superman whump, justice league team feels, shock collar, tachycardia, worried team
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-02-05 06:27:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12788775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Of_Dresden/pseuds/ClaraCivry
Summary: A place for a bunch of whumpy movie!Flash oneshots. Apparently, I can't help myself.Chapter one: Hypothermia (and a group hug), chap 2:tachycardia (too hyper), chap 3 polytrauma (post movie), chap 4 fever chap 5 depression chap 6 anemia (not able to eat)





	1. Hypothermia

“He wouldn't stop moving, so I froze him over.”

 

Clark was thrown into one of those walk in refrigerators, with a rock of kryptonite chained to his chest. But that was not the worst, the worst was that he wasn't alone, there was a figure unusually still in front of him.

 

“No....”

Barry was there, thrown on the floor, with a thin layer of ice covering all of him, making his red suit strangely discoloured and pale. Dead.

“Almost broke free a couple of times, but then he started slowing down, little by little, until he fell on the floor... And now he's not moving anymore.... Just laying on the floor, chilling... hehe, get it? Cos he's all frozen?”

Clark just threw him a very angry glare.

“Nah, you're no fun, Superman. Anyways I'll leave you to cool down, my buddy.”

Clark was actually boiling with rage, but when he tried to move he only managed to slip on the cold floor of the freezer. Damn his kryptonian weakness and damn that man for making use of it. He needed to help his friend and he could hardly reach him.

“Barry?” He whispered into the air, and could see his own breath. This was bad.

Also bad was the fact that Barry hadn't answered and the freezer was still in full blast. Who knew how long the speedster had been there, maybe it had hours, maybe a whole day... The boy was supposed be having a day off from saving the world and be eating all the junk food in the world... That was why they hadn't called him and maybe he'd been here, slowly freezing and calling out for help and none of them had been there to help him.

“Barry....”

Clark needed to get to him, no matter how difficult it was. How much effort it took, how impossible it seemed to be. He had to do it. Not for him, not for the idea of Superman who saved everybody, not for justice, or for doing what was right. In that moment none of those thoughts were in Clark's head. His only thoughts were for Barry their wide eyed friend and hero, frozen in the floor.

He couldn't even see if his chest was moving or not, and with all of his powers not working thanks to the effects of the kryptonite. He didn't even know if Barry was alive, and it was the most distressing situation in the world. He needed to know, he needed to help. Barry couldn't go like this, especially not on his watch.

So he crawled on the floor of the freezer, ignoring how much his limbs protested, how much his whole body cried out for him to stop, but he had to get there. His head went back to the boy's smile, to his funny commentary, to his willingness to save everybody. He was an honest, smart man who was much braver than he thought himself, and had been dealt a very tough hand in life.

He'd been very alone for a big part of his life, either literally living alone or simply feeling alone because no one would pay attention to what he was saying, no one believed him... and then he got this powers, and he was alone again, but he managed, he always managed.

And suddenly the world was in danger and Barry was not alone anymore. There were people who wanted him in their team, to live adventures and help those in need... And Barry was just really glad to be a part of it, even if he wasn't a warrior like them, even if he didn't know anything about battle, but he, with his big expressive eyes he'd been so happy to be a part of it. He couldn't go like this, not if Clark had anything to say.

“Ba...rry”

The cold was beginning to get to him too, apart from the prolonged exposure to the kryptonite, and every movement was hell. It felt as if he would never reach his friend. It felt as if the Flash was already gone. And it wasn't fair, it would never be fair, that he was brought back again and a young man like Barry could be gone. And if there was something that Clark couldn't stomach it was injustice.

And after what felt like a million years, he got to him. Tried to call out his name again, but couldn't. There was no answer anyways, as his teeth chattered and there was a low hum in the whole room. Clark wanted to cry suddenly, feeling like an absolute failure. What good was what he had accomplished if he had to watch a friend die? _I'm here,_ he wanted to say, even if he wasn't being a big help.

Even from so close, Clark couldn't tell if the boy was alive, he was so still.

They didn't have the best of starts, what with Clark going all zombie on them. He had fought this boy before ever saying hello to him, or learning his name. But form that moment, everything had gone better. Clark liked Barry's enthusiasm, and he was happy to teach him about how to best handle his powers, how to make better rescues. Barry was an eager student, and he got to know the boy better through those improvised classes.

Clark felt weirdly protective of the boy. They all were very capable people (and gods, and cyborgs... and well), they were capable, but Barry was so young, and so skinny, and so...adorable. Which only the sensation he had of being failing him.

Be it with his eyes, his tongue or his full body, the Flash was always moving. And Clark was one of the few who could see how much he actually moved, how fast his heart was beating all the time. And now there was nothing, not even the faintest sign of life.

Clark let out a scream of pure grief.

–

He didn't know when they had come for them, who had taken them out of that frozen hell. But as the green rock was taken from him and Clark felt his strength coming back to him, he looked around, anxious. He hardly knew if he could stand yet, but there a was thought stuck in his head. Barry.

“Is he...?” Clark half mumbled.

“I would go, but I don't think I can help with body heat, since I'm mostly metal.” Victor said, and Clark, who was getting back his senses and his body temperature at his usual super human speed, and saw a small huddle of heroes embracing and moving their arms up and down on an still motionless figure, who'd been stripped of almost all of his frozen clothes.

Bruce, Arthur, Diana, all made one to warm their nearly gone friend, feeling a flood of emotions, hoping they weren't too late. Body heat was the best way to fight severe hypothermia, and they had no time to lose. Victor was gathering some supplies (blankets, soup? Barry would probably want to eat, and something warm better, right?)

Clark joined them in that multi-embrace, looking with sadness at the boy's pale face. The ice was gone, thankfully, but he was too cold, too still. And so he joined them, and added a very small does of heat vision for good measure.

“You can do this, boy, come back to us.”

Seconds passed and it was agony, because they were so warm, but Flash wasn't stirring. What if they had lost him for good? The league would its light, its spark. Things were grim enough as it was, and Barry helped them not take themselves too seriously, smile every once in a while. He had so much to do yet... He was so promising. Barry could change the world, without the bloodshed and horrors some of the others inadvertently created. He was light, and he was life. He was warmth.

And watching lifeless like that was hurting all of them.

A tear fell from Clark's eye, and many more threatened to fall.

“Come back. Please, don't leave us like this.”

And then, when all hope seemed to be gone, a small moan, a couple of dark eyes opening. Barry felt strangely cold, but warm at the same time. When he saw all his friends surrounding him, he directed them a lazy smile.

The league could have wept with joy.

Barry was instantly covered in blankets and thermal clothing, given a lot of bowls of soup, and saw many bright and happy eyes looking happily at him. They kept asking him how he was feeling and Bruce got at least half a dozen doctors to look at him. Clark stayed by him the whole time, even when he went to sleep he was nearby, keeping an eye on him.

And he had to admit it, even if he wasn't the best at emotions, all that concern made him feel...warm.

 


	2. Tachycardia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen your prompts and they are lovely, but I just had to get this out first. Hope you enjoy!

He was always moving, always hyper. Going from one place so fast that they didn't even see him, eating, speaking so fast they could hardly understand him, doing one million things at the same time and never slowing down. Barry was tiring simply just by being close to people, he was always going so fast, doing so much.

Alfred, who had met him several tomes, was slightly concerned that one of those the kid's heart would have enough and simply give up on him. That kind of rhythm of life couldn't be healthy, could it? Did that boy ever properly rest? Have some nice uninterrupted hours of sleep? Get a cup of tea, a simply sit on a chair, letting those overworked legs have a break? Probably not, and maybe he could keep it up while he was so young, but spending that amount of energy, every day... It couldn't be good.

Even if Alfred worried, the others kind of got used to it, to the constant moving, the ridiculous speed, the never stopping. It was simply who Barry was, that was his velocity, part of his charm, like that cute awkwardness of his and all the comments about food. Sometimes it could be a bit... stressful that never slowing pace of his, but it was part of Barry and they had learned to love it.

Which was why nobody was too concerned when he came to their meeting place, fast as lightning, and ran through the whole building three times before starting to stop where the others were, and even then, not really stopping. That same old Barry, showing off his great speeding skills in front of his team mates, but really, he had nothing to prove, they all knew how powerful and fast he could be, so why....?

As he slowed down a bot, the others started noticing that something was off. Even as he stopped his legs were shaking, badly, and all of him was shaking. It was strange, they never had seen him do something like that. Like a continuous, accelerated seizure, that made him move non-stop, in a way that seemed almost painful.

“Barry? Are you all right?” Diana asked, not liking this situation one bit.

But Barry wasn't all right, not by a long shot. He hated not being able to control himself, not able to control his speed, that had suddenly become his enemy, after so long being his best friend. He hated that his body had turned against him, not obeying, moving too much and too fast, for too long. He wanted to stop. He wanted to sit and talk with his friends and look them in the eye. But his limbs were trembling, his heart thumped so loud that it felt it was going to burst and he couldn't slow down, couldn't calm down.

He was scared.

“H-h-h-he-he-help me.”

He tried to tell her, but his jaw was trembling too, his teeth chattering in a most painful way, and he could hardly speak, or keep his eyes still in one single place, like an Amazon Princess' face.

“What is happening? Barry, what's wrong?”

He didn't know what was wrong. It wasn't like he'd been gassed with something suspicious, or he'd been cursed by some alien villain. This... sickness, or curse or whatever it was, he couldn't exactly pinpoint when it had all began. So, last night he'd been more restless than usual, but that wasn't something weird. There were many nights when he slept nothing and never had something like this afflicted him.

It had been only restlessness in the beginning, a kind of nervousness he couldn't shake off. He thought that maybe if he ran for a while it will pass, but it only got worse. He was... anxious somehow, and his heart felt funny. Which was odd, because he was normally a perfectly oiled machine and almost forgot that he had a body, much less organs inside it.

He tried eating, and having a cup of tea, and listening to music, but found himself getting more and more agitated, and he didn't know why, but the more he thought about it the worse it got and he was starting to think that could be a problem... He spent the whole morning trying to fix himself, looking on the internet, trying to find ways to get calmer, to be able to close his eyes and stop, but his legs was shaking, his shaking were shaking, and soon his arms were shaking too.

And he was tired and afraid, and by the time he got together with his friends his heart was beating so fast and so loud and it was actually hurting his chest, it was actually painful,and he really didn't know what to do, he tried everything and he didn't think that there was any outside cause to this, oh god, what if he stayed like that forever, what if he could never calm down, he was so tired and he wanted to do things but couldn't because he was shaking so much and couldn't hold on to anything, no no no....

And there was a needle on his back, and he finally could calm down. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell, boneless to the floor. At least now he could stop.

Everyone looked at Bruce with surprise and indignation as he looked at his friend, after having sunk a needle full of the strongest sedatives known to mankind. But Bruce had no regrets.

“He was hurting himself, I had to do something.”

Diana picked the unconscious boy up, wondering what could have brought on this crisis. She had never seen Barry so scared, so helpless. She hoped that the sedatives would last until they figured out some sort of cure for the boy, she really didn't want him to go through that again.

She gently lay him down on the bed while the boys took sample and analysed schematics. Diana took off her friend's mask, and saw his head lolling from side to side, even after being drugged, as if caught in some terrible dream. He always tried to put on a strong face, be lively, but Diana knew that there were many things that haunted Barry. His mother's death. His father's unjust conviction. His connection to the speed force. Not knowing the limits of what he could do.

She wished she could fix his problems, all of them. Barry had such a bright, kind soul despite the blows life had handed him. He still smiled so much, never got angry. He was the spark of light their team needed, a very nice contrast to Batman's and her own darkness. And he was always eager to learn and to fight for justice, even though he didn't like hurting others. She thought that maybe if they met Barry, her sisters would change their mind about men, at least a little.

But Barry was very much human, unlike her and her sisters, unlike Clark was nearly invulnerable or Victor who was half made of metal. Barry was just flesh and bone, and despite his super healing and enhanced abilities, he was still pretty much breakable. It was always concerning, but at least, while he recovered, he could rest, properly. Have someone take care of him, instead of doing everything on his own, as usual.

“Do you know what caused this?” She asked the others.

“There's nothing wrong that would justify it, no cause that we can see. But he had a pretty bad tachycardia, even for his standards.” Victor said. “A bit more time like that and he could have gone into cardiac arrest.”

His heart was going too fast, apparently. And that maybe was one of Barry's few problems: he had too much heart. Wanted to help too much, wanted to fix everything, wanted to learn more, do more, never stop.

Diana caressed the boy's cheek, hummed a little lullaby her mother used to sing for her and just stayed there, hoping to be a calming presence when he woke up. Arthur brought some ocean sound Cds for that purpose, too. He'd been embarrassed but said that they always made him feel better. Each one of them helped in any way they could. They were still worried. They hadn't figured what had caused Barry's accelerated hear rate, which meant they couldn't know if it would happen again, or how to stop it. It was disconcerting.

When Barry regained sense of reality, the world didn't seem to want to kill him anymore. His body was calmer and someone was singing a very soothing song. He half opened his eyes and saw friendly faces all around him.

Safe, and calm, and feeling cared for he went back to sleep. His troubles could wait until the next day.

 


	3. Polytrauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Movie spoilers! Arithese requested Flash being badly hurt after the end of the of the movie, and here it is. Hope you like, and many thanks for all the kind words!  
> Thanks for all the support! You guys rock!

Ouch.

It had been a couple of rough days for Barry's bones, and his innards and his body in general. He'd been thrown around so many times, crashed into walls, got half his thigh burned by some kind of acid, and then was thrown, again. He wasn't an easy guy to knock out, but damn were alien supervillains much more physically strong than him.

He wanted to complain, and like rest for one million years, but he couldn't, not when the future of the earth, maybe of the whole universe was on the line and his team mates were counting on him. (Also, the others were so cool and collected and smooth and serious and seemed near invulnerable, I mean that Superman guy up close? Whoa and he wanted to seem as great as them, as... elegant in battle, wanted to impress them, or at least not come off as the weakest link in the team, even if he probably was).

So he kept quiet and took the blows, and hoped that his speed-ness super healing would take care of it, the sooner the better. But what with the whole mega battle with Steppenwolf part one and bringing Superman back to life, and then the whole Russia shenanigans, and fighting one of those one hundred million bug man demons his abilities weren't working as well as they should. And it wasn't just the blows.

Stress and insecurity and fear all made him a bit wonky, and boy had he been feeling all those a lot those last few days. He wanted to live up to his abilities finally, he wanted to help people,he wanted to be as good as he could be, he wanted to earn his place in that awesome team and he wanted people to be glad to see the Flash. But it wasn't easy, and he had never done it before and he was afraid that he would do everything wrong, and hurt people instead and the guys from the league, probably one if his few chances at having friends given his secrets and his problems with regular people rhythm.

So there had been a lot of pressure for him, and not as much access to food as he was used to and normally required. Yeah, of course he could still work eating a bit less for a day or two, but that coupled with the stress and all the injuries he received... well, let's just say that his healing abilities weren't at their usual 217%. Not even at a regular person's one hundred percent. More like seventy two percent, tops. Maybe not even that.

He was quite convinced that some of the bones he broke in their first fight with Steppenwolf had rebroken in their last fight and he had the suspicion that some broken rib had gone into his lung, because boy, was it getting difficult to breathe. He broken ribs before, of course, they were small bones and he had crashed into concrete at very high speeds before, but this time it was different, because that was on top of all his other injuries.

His left leg was in bad shape, his side felt funny (and the bad kind of funny, not the good one from pills and thin air but the bad one from am I about to collapse kind of funny) and his head hurt in a way it hadn't in years. It had all been a bit too much, and it was taking every ounce of his considerable strength to keep up the façade that he was okay in front of his cool new friends. He would keep his cool, say goodbye, and then go find a bed and screen to watch a million videos while his body fixed itself.

Only this time a calm night under the blankets watching cartoons wasn't going to be enough. This time he was too badly hurt for it to be enough.

“Nice work there, boy.” Aquaman said as they were walking back to the plane, giving Barry a friendly pat on the back.

No matter how meant he well with the gesture, the truth was that Arthur was a very strong guy, and even when he was just being friendly and non-aggressive he wasn't soft. And shocked by the unexpected blow, Barry completely lost his footing and fell to his knees.

He tried to get up, but couldn't. His whole world was swimming, tilting strangely and his chest hurt even more than before. There were black spots in his vision and he heard people calling his name but they sounded blurry, as if they were very far, or underwater. And then there was something stuck in his throat, and it was sticky and it hurt as it came up. He tried to clean it up, and realised it was blood.

Probably not a good thing. All of his old and new injuries were suddenly making their presence known, and even the healed ones and the scars hurt again. Oh, boy.

There was someone next to him as he was trying to regain his balance. Two someones. Blue eyes and darker ones looking at him inquisitively, asking a silent question as they knelt on the road to be next to him.

“I... I'll be fine.” he said “but... I'm just not sure I can walk all the way.”

“That's okay.” Victor said, offering a gentle smile that none of them had seen in his face so far. “You can lean on us.”

Clark smiled too, and they carefully helped him up. Barry could feel himself fading, and didn't understand. He was supposed to be healing himself, supposed to be as strong as them. So he'd thrown against some walls while saving the world. The others had been hurt too and now they were running around perfectly intact. He wanted to sigh, but only managed to cough up more blood.

The trip to the jet was excruciating, and when he finally got there Barry felt like a million years older. He wasn't used to going so slow and he wasn't used to hurting so much. He placed carefully in a coach in the plane, on his side so he wouldn't choke on his blood. But no matter how soft the place was, everything hurt. It hurt a lot and he wanted it to be done with.

“Why don't you try to sleep a bit, huh?” Clark's voice above him, and his eyes were gentle and grateful, made him feel good, like a nice cup of tea on a winter day. “You've earned it.”

And Barry just complied.

Bad thing was, when they tried to wake him up again, they couldn't. Arthur felt so terribly guilty, feeling that all of this was his fault. He was told that Barry's injuries preceded his fatal tap on the back, but he felt as if he'd delivered the fatal blow to the kid. He just hoped that he'd get better soon.

Medical files showed that had three broken ribs, a punctured lung, another break in his left tibia, a ruptured spleen, internal haemorrhaging all over his abdomen and a severe concussion. Probably somebody without his special abilities wouldn't even have survived those injuries, and the kid had just tried to shrug it off.

Also, his healing skills were taking longer than usual to fix things because his sugar had been so low and he'd been close to having a hypoglycaemic attack. Really, that boy. When he was a bit better they were going to have a little chat about self-care and not hiding injuries from one's team. On the one hand, it was admirable that he'd worked so well while being so badly hurt. On the other hand, it was scary, because the next time they may not have medical supplies so handy and they needed to know.

Barry spent a grand total of four days healing from his wide range of injuries, the whole first one sleeping soundly. (Which was kind of unsettling. The others weren't used to the silence, weren't used to seeing the boy sleeping for so terribly long). He recovered in Wayne Manor, and the others were there nearly all of the time.

Arthur apologised profusely, Victor played chess with him, Diana watched funny videos with him. It was a nice break, but then he got better and the time for THE TALK came.

“Why didn't you tell us you were hurt?” Bruce began, stern as usual.

“Well, I think saving the universe was a bigger priority than my boo-boos.” Barry said, uncomfortable with all that attention and the eyes looking at him.

“They weren't just boo-boos, Barry. You were badly injured and needed help. If you hadn't got it maybe the consequences could have been much worse. Why didn't you say anything?”

There was a whisper.

“What?”

Clark smiled.

“He said that he didn't want us to think less of him. But of course we won't! You're an amazing hero and the act that you put yourself in danger to help others only makes you more admirable. Makes us think more of you, not less.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So stop being an idiot and tell us if you're hurt, ok? No more pride, no more discussion. We already think you're great, kid. No need to for that.”

Barry smiled.

It was nice knowing that he could be himself with these people, after so long hiding himself and what he could do. It was good knowing that he could count on them, because he had the feeling that he was going to get hurt many, many more times.

 


	4. Hypertermia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anna in chap 1, feverish Barry with Bruce taking care of him. Hope you guys like!! Thanks for all the nice comments!

Barry was at Bruce's because he needed one of those super high tech computers for something, or he had started something in one of those computers that needed finishing, something like that. Bruce wasn't exactly sure why the kid was here, but he was glad he was. He was lively and fun, and always helped him get out of those dark holes he'd constructed for himself. Barry was a ray of sunshine in usually dark cave, and both him and Alfred welcomed having him here.

They had a lot of food for him prepared, as usual. It was amazing how much that boy could eat and not gain any weight. Of course, he did exercise a lot and in a way Bruce struggled to even understand with all of his supersonic running, which he used for everything, not just for for battle and long distances, even inside houses, even inside the same room. Always so fast, so energetic.

That was also something Bruce liked of Barry, apart from his smiles and jokes, he liked his energy. He had been Batman for many years now, done many many things, some questionable and others downright bad, and at the end of the day he didn't have the energy he used to have when he was younger. He got tired easier, and sometimes it was difficult finding the strength and the motivation to carry on, to get out every day.

 

But Barry always wanted to do more, he was always so excited, so surprised at seeing all his gadgets and even what the bad guys did surprised him and he was happy to have challenges, and happy to have a team and he brought a freshness that was oh so very sorely needed in Wayne manor and in Bruce's life in general. So, normally, having Barry around made for a fun, lively evening and both Alfred and Bruce finished with a smile and feeling some years younger. Not today, though.

He had come in the early afternoon, and had been all the time very uncharacteristically quiet. He had asked to be directed to the computer and mostly worked on his own, on something that apparently was frustrating him a lot and that made him grunt and sigh every so often. Odd. Normally it was smiles and excitement and sometimes even laughs when he watched funny videos while working on something serious. He usually had a thousand tabs open and one of them was always fun. But today....

He wasn't just less cheerful and happy, he felt kind of... slow. Not slow, slow, normal person slow but very slow for somebody like him. He was looking normal, and acting normal, but was not normal for Barry. His normal was hyper, always hyper, and the fact that he wasn't, while not concerning on its own (maybe he was just taking things easy for a while, or was tired out after a specially long run) but it was odd, it was different. Maybe not good.

In fact, they just realised that he hadn't taken a single bite to eat in the six hours he had been there. It happened sometimes when he got so caught up in whatever he was doing that he forgot himself, and everything that surrounded him. Maybe it meant nothing, probably meant nothing but still... there was something not quite right about his whole demeanour, and about the quick way he said goodbye.

But Barry was a grown man and it didn't feel right to pry, to hadn't known each other for that long and....Still, there a tiny little voice in the back of Bruce's head that told him he should have done more, reached out. Asked what was going on. Diana would have, probably Clark too. At this point in his life he should be better at social skills, but...

And then the next day came and they were supposed to find some alien device in an abandoned warehouse in the border with Canada. There were five of them, and Bruce and Barry were the only ones who weren't going alone, because you know, they weren't immortal or nearly invulnerable thanks to an Alien origin or an alien sentient armour. They were the most human ones, so the team decided they should accompanied. And a good thing it was.

The place was really cold, and Bruce hadn't been able to sleep properly the previous night, so he wasn't at the top of his game. He was also worried about the fact that Clark never seemed to talk to him directly lately (had he done something wrong? Or was this still because of what happened because they brought him back?) and the fact that Diana seemed specially worried about the repercussions of this mission (if she was that worried maybe they should be more worried too?) and he didn't notice how...sketchily Barry was running, and was just happy when he was handed the device.

“Let's get back.”

But Barry wasn't getting back, just stood there, apparently frozen in place but wobbling slightly, eyes glassy and breathing heavily.

“I did okay?” He asked, much lower than usually, with a small voice that shook Bruce out of his thoughts.

“Of course, Barry, why....”

And he took it all in and his own troubles where out of his head in seconds.

“Are you all right?”

And so Bruce's hand flew onto Barry's forehead, that was, as feared way too hot.

“'m fine.” Barry muttered. “Super healing, you know?”

The fire under Bruce's hand begged to differ. The millionaire sighed, not knowing how to deal with this.

“Well, it's not working properly. You're burning up.”

Barry was just looking at him as if he didn't understand, eyes slightly out of focus. Damn, this was bad.

“Let's get you back to the jet, ok?” Bruce said. “Can you walk?”

“I can do more than walk, I can...”

“No running, Barry. You're sick, you need to save up your energy.”

“But it will take so long....”

“You shouldn't even have been here in the first place.”

He sighed again, looking at the boy. He could see a light flush in his youthful face, the eyes too bright, a faint trembling in his limbs. Even his lips had lost colour, and Bruce wanted to hit himself for not noticing anything before.

“And if you say that you're fine....”

“I do feel a bit cold, but I figured it was because we're in Canada. It's always cold there, you know, or at least that what I heard. So it's normal that I'm cold right? Very normal.”

The trip to the plane did take very long, with Barry trying to fill the length of the trip with words from his not-properly-working head to distract himself from how far this was without running and Bruce brooding and kicking himself for having brought a sick boy all the way to the border and not noticing sooner.

Barry felt that the world was moving strangely, and that there was a strange weight on him, on his head, on his limbs, in his chest. He'd been trying to ignore it, because technically, this couldn't be happening, and he couldn't get sick, so it was probably just him being a whiny boy and being sad about the fact that he was getting nowhere trying to reopen his dad's investigation, even with the connections he now had. Nothing else but his mind making him think that he felt sick, but logically, reasonably, he couldn't be.

Bruce knew that he was, though, and that was why he'd been so quiet the day before, why he had felt different and slow. Because he'd been sick the day before, and obviously he hadn't said anything because probably he hadn't been sick in so long that he probably didn't even think he could get sick anymore. This wasn't on Barry and if he should say “how he felt” or anything like that.

It was perfectly normal that he would have forgotten what it was to be sick after so long. Hey, maybe he had been sick after getting his powers, but no one had been there to notice, so he went through the whole thing alone, never knowing that his super healing hadn't covered everything. Which could be quite dangerous. The thing was that now he wasn't alone, and still....

“....Cold...”

Barry was thrown in one of the jets expensive couches, eyes half-close, in a state between sleep and vigil and he muttered that without realising it. Bruce quickly located and covered him with a couple of blankets, being careful not to smother but to make him feel better. He also looked for a cloth to dampen with cold water, to put in his too-hot forehead. Barry whined a little, but then visibly calmed down, and breathed deeply.

He was still too hot, maybe even more than before they got in the plane. Thermometer said he was 102 degrees. Shit. Bruce wished for his private lab and all his medical gadgets, but in the plane he only had first aid things. The fact that this illness, whatever it was, could surpass Barry's super defences meant that it was something serious, maybe even life threatening. He asked Alfred to call the best doctors they knew, and have the medical personnel and equipment ready the moment they arrived on the plane. It was the least he could do.

The plane ride also felt eternal. Every moment in which Barry was sick and not getting treated was too long, too distressing. He wasn't allowed to be sick, particularly not very sick. Bruce, for all of his millions, all of his resources and skills felt at a loss here. He hadn't been able to notice that he was sick, and now he didn't know what else to do to comfort him, making him feel better.

Dark bright eyes were watching him.

“Why... are you sad?” A small voice said shaking him out of his thoughts.

“I'm sad you're hurting. I wish I could make it better.” Bruce said, a bit surprised with his own honesty.

“I'll be fine.”

Barry got even more not-fine during the rest of the flight. He got delirious, and mistook Bruce for his dad “ _did I get you out? Dad, I'm sorry, it took so long, I tried everything, Dad...”_ and Bruce's heart broke in places he didn't know could get broken. He was such an incredible person, even when he was ill he had asked why he was sad, and apologised to his dad for not being fast enough.

Bruce just renewed the damp cloth, tucked him in one hundred times with those blankets, shushed him when he moaned, held his hand to offer some comfort. It was scary how bad he'd gotten in such a short time. A couple of tears escaped Barry's big glassy eyes.

“It hurts.”

“I know. But don't worry, you'll feel better soon, you'll see.”

Barry held onto Bruce's hand tighter. He couldn't really place that person, but he didn't care. He just wanted the pain to be over.

When the plane landed, everything was set to get Barry the best possible care money could pay. Bruce's voice broke a bit as he told the doctors to keep him updated, and he tried to hold back the tears, but some did escape his eyes. He uttered a silent prayer to whoever could be listening for his young friend to be okay.

It turned that Barry had contracted something called the Badwan syndrome, a rare condition with an astonishing 92% rate of mortality. It took a whole week, even with Barry's enhancements for him to get better, and even after he did, it was some time until he was allowed back on the field. Barry complained, and Bruce, once again, got totally honest.

“You scared the hell out of me, Barry. I'm not letting you move an inch until you're completely absolutely okay.”

Barry was touched, and so he smiled awkwardly and left. Sometimes he remembered parts of that plane ride. A soothing voice telling him he'd feel better soon. A hand drawing circles of his own. He hadn't felt that kind of...care since before his had went to jail. It was a memory he cherished.

What had been a nightmare for Bruce, became a source of comfort for Barry.

What was it that they said about clouds and silver linings?

 


	5. Melancholia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Renegade Hero requested Barry feeling sad, and here it is, a whole bunch of sad Barry. Hope you guys enjoy!

He was supposed to get everyone out, but he got light-headed and in the end it was Superman who who took the last of the people out of that falling bridge. His only responsibility, and he hadn't been able to finish it. He hadn't been able to save the people, he who was supposed to be a hero. He sighed.

Barry felt suddenly useless, too weak for anything, never good enough. It was a feeling that was with him often – that feeling of being useless, so much potential to end up ultimately being a failure. He had one mission in life, which was clearing up his father's name and finding out what really happened to his mom, and the years passed and all he had achieved was a big fat nothing.

For a long time, he'd been alone, very much alone and there was a little voice in his head that told him that maybe he deserved to be alone, for being so useless and annoying. That it was better not to open himself up, not just because of his abilities and the danger it could mean for the people to know, but because he really didn't deserve anyone else.

He was way too weird, and while he knew that a certain amount of awkwardness could seem cute in the beginning, almost adorable perhaps, it got old fast. He talked too much, and he was always saying things he wasn't supposed to be saying, joking when he should be serious, scared, too scared, and always talking way too fast. He just never could move at an acceptable pace, and he felt that he was tiring and annoying for anyone who got to meet the real him.

So he'd accepted that he would be alone for a long time, and weathered the storms of life on his won as best as he could. (Although sometimes he did miss having a shoulder to cry on, someone to tell him it was okay to get low, instead of always having to be his best strongest self when he visited hi dad).

And then he found friends, which was good in many aspects and made him feel happier and most certainly less alone, but it also brought many insecurities with it. Even though his friends were weird like him and kind out of place, (some of them even out of time) they all were much more powerful and competent at being heroes, which was great on its own, but made him feel a bit... inadequate.

They did everything with such ease, delivering one-liners while facing the worst imaginable dangers, and then always landed on their feet. They came up with great ideas, and delivered them with style. And in the meantime, he was just there, trying not to freak out and anxiously pushing people out of dangerous places. Definitely nothing like heat vision or all the cool things Victor could do with his super digital armour. He was just fast, and some days, not even that.

They were always ready for battle those guys. Diana and Arthur was kinds of gods of their, maybe not gods gods, but royalty and near immortal, and Cyborg had enough enhancements to be almost in the same level as them. And Clark... well, he was near invulnerable and that was putting it mildly. Barry had lost count of all the powers he'd seen the kryptonian use in battle.

And Batman may not have powers, but he had years of experience and that was another thing Barry didn't have. He was a newbie and he felt that as time went by, instead of getting better and stronger, he was making more mistakes and becoming worse. Which made him like a burden on the team, more harm than good. He meant well, but that was not enough. Not when there were people's lives at stake.

And he was so tired... He didn't use to need a lot of sleep and almost never any rest, but after fighting and running so much, and training and so many other things.... He really was exhausted, but felt lazy and wrong if he stopped. That wasn't going to fix anything, just make him more of a lazy shapeless blur of a man.

Needless to say, Barry was feeling a bit down.

And nothing seemed to cheer him up. He ate his favourite foods but they didn't seem as sweet as they used to. He listened to his music and it was too loud and unpleasant. He was simply taken over by thoughts of failure, of worthlessness and inadequacy. He really was the least important member of the team, and maybe the others were simply too kind to kick him out. Maybe he should simply walk out on his own, spare them the bad moment.

He looked at the lightning in his suit, sadly. He thought he could be so many great things, used his speed for such incredible feats... And in the end, all he was good at was getting thrown against walls and complaining that he was hungry. A lot of help you are, Barry, he told himself, no wonder if the others just came up to him one day and kicked him out. It would be better for the league, better for everyone. They didn't need him.

Nobody did need him, him, an overexcited obnoxious good for nothing speedster. He was nothing compared to the overall human quality of those guys, just a stupid wide eyed man child. He deserved to be alone, like he always had.

He couldn't help the tears from falling, that fell stupidly down his cheeks. And he was so tired and hungry but couldn't find the strength or motivation to simply find himself something to eat. So he started sobbing, letting himself sink further into a well of self-loathing. With all of those powers, and he hadn't achieved anything worthwhile. His dad was still in jail. He was the weakest of his team, a liability, a burden.

He almost longed for those times when he was completely alone, because then he couldn't disappoint anyone. He threw his mask on the floor and cried.

 

-

 

Never in a million years would Victor imagine he would find Barry like this. In another million embarrassing situations, yes, but never crying. Because that was what he was doing when Victor came in, the Flash, their eternal ray of light and jokes and the one who had tried to get him, a half robot person, to high five, that boy was crying and his bloodshot eyes told Victor that it had been going on for a while.

“I... wanted to ask you.... Nevermind that now, are you all right? Did something happen?”

Barry started trying to clean his tears, but more kept coming. He didn't know why he wasn't running away, but he wasn't. Maybe his head hurt too much for all that movement. “Been crying for like 15 minutes” isn't something super metabolism can undo.

“I'm... I'm fine, nothing happened, I just....”

Barry looked at his friend through bloodshot eyes, embarrassed, feeling stupider. How could he explain... this, whatever it was, to Victor?

“You can talk to me, man, I won't tell the others if you don't want me to.”

Victor didn't know very well what to do (he'd lost so many of his impeccable social skills after the accident and merging with an alien armour, high school Victor would have known what to do and how to help but Cyborg Victor was just scanning him for any physical pain that may have caused this, which was weird). He offered a sympathetic smile and just sat next to Barry, his fellow accident team mate. He cared a great deal about the speedster, although it had taken a while for him, who'd been so bitter about his abilities, while Barry just smiled at his armour. Ugh.

But there was an incredible strength to Barry despite his youthful appearance and goofy antics. What could have been a villain origin story for many (lost your mom, dad wrongfully convicted, got struck by lightning and developed weird powers) had been the start of a heroic, selfless journey for Barry, one he faced with enthusiasm and attempts at friendship with his fellow weirdos. It took... something special to deal with what life had given Barry like that.

The guy lost his mom, like Victor and was in an accident that made him...different. But he had chosen to look at it on the bright side, and with it helped everyone in the league be less gloomy. But now he was sadness personified, with those with big eyes bright with unshed tears and his cheeks stained with tear tracks. Victor thought of offering a hug, but he couldn't very much control his strength in his metal bits and he didn't want to break any bones.

He just offered a tissue.

“Thanks” Barry said, with a small broken voice.

“Did somebody hurt you? Because I swear.... Or was it something we did?”

“No...no...” Barry said, trying to clean his face. “You guys are awesome. It's just....me”

“What about you?”

And the words just got out of Barry, at full speed.

“It just that I'm useless, today I couldn't even finish, and you guys can do so many things and I only....run. You don't need me.”

Victor felt almost offended. If it was anyone else saying those bad things about Barry they would have gotten a piece. But this needed a bit of a more gentle touch.

“You can't really think that about yourself! You're awesome! Sure you couldn't finish today, 'cos you were tired! You're allowed to be tired, man, after all you do. If it was up to me, it would have taken like ten minutes to get the people you got out, some of them may have drowned, or something. But you went there, and you got them to safety in... well, in a flash. And it was great, man.”

Barry looked at him with a “really?” expression in his eyes. He really needed to hear those things.

“And we're not that great, man, I don't now if you remember but I nearly shot Superman. And you get thrown around and never complain, and you are like the one who always sees the good side of things. You're like our glue of happiness, and we need you a lot. And you're not useless, you're incredible, come on! All the things you can do in a second that it takes the rest of us hours? You're incredible, and I understand that you're having a bad day, but it's just that. A bad day. You're not useless, and we want you with us. You're my accident buddy, remember?”

Barry half smiled. Yeah, maybe it was him being a bit too dramatic about a bad day. Maybe the league didn't need him as much as they thought, but they didn't hate him either. And he'd just received a pep talk from Cyborg himself! That was good. His head still hurt, but it was good.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, man. And...don't put yourself down like that. Know your value, which is a lot. Don't let anyone tell you different, much less yourself.”

“I'll try to remember it. So.. why did you come here in the first place?”

After that day, Victor made sure that only the best rave reviews about the Flash reached Barry's ears. The boy deserved nothing less.

 


	6. Anemia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stomach flu/not being able to eat requested by Zeee in chap one. Hope you like! Enjoy and please comment! Love you!

There was some sort of purple gas that covered everything, made it hard to see. Barry found himself coughing like there was no tomorrow, stopped in his tracks, not even able to see clearly. Clark and Diana didn't seem to be affected (of course they weren't) so they took care of everything while Barry struggled to breathe properly again.

His eyes were tearing up, too, and his whole world seemed to be spinning, despite his enhanced system. That gas surely had done a number on him, and even ten minutes later, after the others had dealt with those aliens, Barry wasn't completely ok, completely back with them.

“Are you all right?”

Diana asked, looking great as usual while she tied up some of the bad guys with her lasso.

“Sure, I just need a moment.”

Feeling still quite light headed and a like he was absolutely not needed there, Barry said some quick goodbyes and left for his house. He was hoping that after a nice power nap and a couple pizzas he would feel better, put this whole thing behind him. He was still trying not to feel super-inferior to the others, but it was hard. And this incident with the gas hadn't helped at all.

Sometimes he wished for someone new, someone human and without any special endurance, so he would have someone with whom he could talk about how excessively perfect the others were, and how much easier they got hurt comparing to them. But no, that didn't seem to be happening soon. It was okay, Barry was fairly used to dealing with bad situations alone. He could continue doing it.

After getting home, he slept for almost eleven hours, and woke up to a gazillion worried texts and missed calls from everybody in the league (plus Alfred). Weird. He didn't normally need more than four hours of sleep a day, and normally even that was divided into smaller portions of sleep. He didn't remember the last time he'd slept more than three hours. Usually hunger woke him up, too.

But not this time. He'd slept over ten hours and yet he wasn't hungry. Odd.

Barry called everyone back, told them that he'd just been sleeping (and everyone seemed pretty concerned about that, too, even if a regular person sleeping ten hours would be no cause for alarm) and he went back to HQ, to deal with the fallout of the battle of the previous day. They discussed what they had done, they discussed how to be better next time, they celebrated that they had all made it out alive.

It was nice.

Barry only had some coffee, to fully wake himself up, as the rest of the food seemed strangely... unappealing. He would have to eat at some point, or else he would crash, but he didn't want to ruin that nice morning with food. Something he never thought he would think, not after the lightning, when all food was good food. There was something different, and it was taking a while to wear off.

The others noticed too. They were worried about Barry, wondering how much that gas that affected him. He was supposed to be okay, super healing and all, but that gas had been some strong stuff (Bruce had spent the whole previous night vomiting despite all of his high end medication) and Barry seemed a bit...off. Sleeping all those hours and then not eating anything the whole morning? When there were waffles and muffins specifically there for him?

When he got back to his place, he reheated an old pizza, and ate while watching some cartoons. He felt that his head was clearer now. Maybe the problem had only been that he'd been too tired, and then slept too much, so his life rhythm (so to speak) had been thrown for a loop. But now things could go back to normal.

They could, but they didn't. Roughly thirty minutes later, Barry found himself throwing up all that he'd eaten, and there were, again, tears in his again. Boy, had he forgotten how unpleasant that process could be after years and years of curing himself of every stomach virus he ever got. This was not something that he had missed, and it left him feeling odd and queasy.

He decided not to eat anything until the next day, just in case.

But the next day he didn't better luck. He had breakfast and went to work as usual, but about twenty minutes after arriving he was back in the toilet, all the delicious breakfast food out of him again. His supervisor told him to go home, that he hadn't used any of his sick days and deserved a break. Barry wanted to complain, because he wanted to save his sick days for when he was busy saving the world, but really, he felt too bad.

He even got himself a taxi instead of running back home.

It was clear that he had a problem, but going to a doctor was a difficult thing for him. Like 98% of the doctors of the world could not work with him, because their knowledge, their parameters and all those things weren't valid for Barry and his special situation. And to get to the others, the ones that could help him, the specialist, he needed to talk to Mr. Wayne and ask him for their number and if then he didn't have money to pay for all that specialised attention (which was not cheap) and Mr. Wayne paid the expenses and he felt bad. He didn't want to be taking so much, and offering so little.

So normally he just waited it out, hoping that his body would do its magic and the issue would solve itself on its own, giving it some time. At was what he was doing this time too. He had discovered that while he couldn't eat anything solid or any juice, his body accepted coffee and energy drinks, so even if he didn't eat, he had some energy to go through the days (work, league business, visiting his dad) and for some time he managed like that.

The first days it wasn't so bad. He felt a bit strange and slept more, but it wasn't so bad. Then the caffeine started being too much and the time without food too long and he started feeling faint, not at all there, and his heart begun to do some strange, never done before things, like stopping for a while, or going so fast it hurt. And his hand was trembling and it was getting more and more difficult to hide. It was a good thing that he hadn't seen the guys from the league since that morning, because they would have seen through him for sure.

He tried eating again, but it was once again a disaster. Not only everything came back up, but the food hurt while it was in his stomach, while it was being thrown up and even after for a while. He had forgotten what it was to have a stomachache, too. Not a memory that he missed, not at all. But it had come back with a vengeance.

The time had come, apparently to seek help, as the problem was not solving on its own, but only getting worse. If he didn't ask for help,everything would get much more complicated, and poor Mr. Wayne would to pay much more in Doctors and he didn't want that. He didn't want to ask either, but it seemed that he had no choice. So he ran to Wayne Manor, feeling like shit the whole way, and promptly collapsed just after Alfred opened the door.

The butler was frozen in the spot for a split second, rendered speechless by young Barry's terrible appearance and his sudden fall on the ground before being able to utter a word. He called Bruce and they took the boy to the medbay, where they found out that Barry had lost a lot of weight (nearly twenty pounds) and that he was nearly malnourished, apart from having some deficiencies and anomalous readings.

When he woke up, his stomach still hurt and Barry made himself a ball.

“Where... What happened?”

“You're in Wayne manor, you passed out on the floor. It would seem that the purple gas from those aliens has been affecting you the whole time, huh?”

Barry just nodded with his head, tired of being weak and sick.

“Well, not to worry because we can make it better. Of course, it would have been easier if you told use before, but we can still fix you.”

Barry drew a little smile, let Bruce and Alfred put all the IVs and injections they needed, and they gave him some comfy pjs, and very nice blankets and sheets. He was letting himself be taken care of, for once, forgetting the implications, the consequences, and how it would look. He just wanted to be better, and Alfred and Bruce were happy to take care of him, and that he would let them for once.

“You've fought enough, boy. And when you're better, you will have tons of food ready for you, to get back all of that muscle back.” Alfred said, in that low soft voice he used when anyone was sick.

“I do miss food.”

“You won't have to miss it for long, you'll see. But for now, just rest and regain your strength, all right?”

Even if he felt like crap, the world felt nicer in that big bed, with a big tv to watch cartoons, knowing that he was getting the meds that would fix what was wrong and that he still had some time to laze off.

“I'm glad to have you guys.” Barry said, almost in a whisper, as he was falling back into sleep.

“And we're glad to have you too.” Alfred said back to the speedster. “We're glad and lucky to have you, son.”

 


	7. Fractura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Wintersolsticegirl in chapter 2. Hope you enjoy! Thanks for all the spuport! Love ya!

He was running at full speed and suddenly he felt the worse pain he had felt maybe in his whole life. Pain like he hadn't even able to imagine, to think was possible. It was exploding in his head and blinding him and for a moment he couldn't even think, couldn't see, his whole body was shut down due to the excruciating pain.

He only knew that he could not move anymore and that he suddenly found himself on the floor, with half his face scratched from colliding against the floor at such high speed, writhing and screaming without realising it. The rest of the world had stop existing, and suddenly there was only him and his pain. Agony like he had never felt before, and he'd been in very many terrible situations.

One of the villains they'd been fighting had thrown a weapon that reached Barry's speed, surpassed it and somehow managed to break his left leg, broke his tibia in two, and the sheer pain it caused made him stumble, and fall face first on the road, adding other high-speed collision injuries to the main one in his leg.

After some horrible seconds, Barry managed to understand what was happening, laying there face down on the floor. Something had hurt his leg, badly and he had fallen in the middle of the battle. It was probably not a good situation. So Barry tried to gather himself, bite through the pain, fight through it to try and move... But it felt impossible. When he tried to himself (much less his leg) he simply couldn't.

Somebody was coming his way, somebody with guns and a menacing smile, and he could do nothing but hope for the pain to end, or at least diminish. But it wasn't and the battle kept raging on, the enemies would surely take advantage of that. There were tears in Barry's eyes and for a moment he couldn't even think about the others or the fight they were fighting... He just wanted somebody to tell him that everything would be okay, to hold him, to make the pain stop.

Before the man that was coming to him could do any damage, he was taken away by some sudden sea wave, as Arthur had seen what happened and was not going to allow anything bad to happen to his partner. On the other side he had Diana, so at least he was protected. Barry tried to smile through his tears, but only a grimace appeared.

The pain was not slowing down, who knew why. His healing abilities hadn't been working too well the last few weeks, after an encounter with some alien mystical substance that had managed to knock all of them down. Mr. Wayne's doctors had said that the after effects could last weeks, maybe even months, but he hadn't realised he would feel them so much, and for so long. The pain was only getting stronger, and Barry could hardly contain even more screams.

He tried to move, but only managed to crawl on the road, cause even more agony in his leg. His teeth were chattering but he wanted to... do something, not be a bother in the middle of the road. Move, help, stop being a huge baby. If only the pain would at least get a bit better. He saw through blurry eyes that the others kept fighting. Maybe at some point he should get himself a weapon of some kind, to be able to fight back, even when paralysed like he was now.

After what felt like centuries, Cyborg and Superman arrived too, and with their help the fight was finished, and they were able to move Barry to someplace safer. As Arthur carried him in his strong arms, Barry whispered an apology for being so weak and useless. Aquaman jut hushed him and told him to stop saying nonsense. That everything was going to be ok. Barry half smiled in his weakened state, moaned softly and then passed out.

When he woke up, there was a cast on his leg and Barry nearly freaked out. He looked at the clock and saw that it hadn't nearly five hours (wow, had he really been out that long?) since the battle, and still his leg hadn't healed. Nothing ever took that long to heal for him, even with the involvement of extraterrestrial bioweapons.

What if he had lost his healing abilities for good? What if they had reached a limit and now he couldn't heal himself anymore? What if that last alien gas had destroyed them forever? That would mean that maybe his leg wold never get well, which could mean that he wouldn't be able to walk again, and what was worse, he wouldn't be able to run again.

What he would do then? All he did was run, all his life revolved around rapid and constant movement, his whole superhero identity was that of a guy who moved really fast. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream again and he was wondering why everything felt so muffled. If his metabolism wasn't eating away painkillers and he was feeling its effects, then he was in big trouble. Big, big trouble.

Diana and Bruce came to see him, and smiled at seeing him awake.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

Barry didn't know what to say, but gratefully he didn't have to, as Bruce continued speaking.

“We found out why you weren't healing, by the way – you got some weird bad interactions with the meds we gave after the last attack, it triggered something called the Ripley syndrome. You've been feeling a bit queasy lately, tired, without as much hunger as usual? Yeah, that was it But we gave a shot and with three more in the next three days, it should be all gone.”

Barry breathed in relief.

“I'm sorry I was so useless yesterday... it was... it hurt so much.”

Diana smiled at him.

“We've all felt pain, Barry. Sometimes it can be too much – and there's nothing wrong with that. Other time we have been in danger and you were there to help us. It's only fair that we be there for you as well.”

Barry whispered a quick thank you, blushed a bit and looked down. Even after the time they'd worked together, he was still impressed by that woman, even without her armour.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Only a bit.”

It would heal, and that was what mattered.

Even so, for years afterwards he felt phantom pains in his left leg, and it got more tired and sore after running. There was a scar on his bone, a scar deep down on his body that would probably never go away.

It was okay. Battle scars were a small price to pay for having found a new family.

People to protect him when he was danger, and tell him that everything would be ok.

 


	8. Trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw warning for attempted abuse of a minor. Based on a prompt in my tumblr (claracivry) for the bad things happen bingo.

Barry had forgotten all about it, blocked the whole thing, locked it in a far away corner of his mind, but Bruce Wayne touched his shoulder and neck in exactly the same way he used to do, and what should have been a nice friendly gesture, a simple pat in the back, unleashed a terrible hell. 

Barry managed to get his emancipation papers quite young, but but for some years after his mother died he had been part of the foster system, and, well... It hadn't been the best of times. And foster parents didn't normally want older kids, they wanted cute babies who didn't ask to visit their father in prison. So, a lot of the foster parents he'd been with had been fairly terrible.

Some of them neglected him and the other kids they'd taken: didn't feed them, didn't clothe them, they had no beds, that sort of things. Others tried to use them as servants, and called it discipline. One memorable foster parent had tried to make him deal his drugs, and beat him up when he didn't comply. So of course, when he found that family, he thought he had struck gold. The mom was a bit of those wine drunks who complained about their life a lot, but she was harmless  
. And he...

He kept telling him how much he liked him, how he was the best kid in the world and about all the things they could together. The man was affectionate and warm, and Barry didn't know exactly how to respond to that. He was reluctant at first, but eventually opened up, started believing that his luck could be improving. And so it began, as a show of affection, he said: the touching. 

It was very gradual, started softly and got worse as the weeks progressed. It was just some light touching, holding, and never in inappropriate places. Sure, the man touched him a bit too much, but it was just his way of being, his personality – that was how he was with the people he cared about, how he would show how much he cared. 

Still, there was something about it that irked Barry. And it was... getting worse. The man touched him more, longer, grabbed him, handled him. Just to show his affection, maybe, but it was enough to make Barry uncomfortable. He.... didn't want to be touched so much. He wanted it to stop, but it didn't. 

Until one day when he was cornered in the bathroom, and the man tried to strip him. Barry said no, tried to escape, but he was a big man, and Barry only a small kid and the man... he...

“You want to get out? You don't want my love? Bad boy.”

“Please.”

When his fate seemed sealed, the wife came barging in, and Barry used the chance to escape. He ran and ran and ran, and when he stopped running he asked for a phone and called the social worker. She had made him memorize her phone number, in case things went sour again. And never ever came back to that place, forgot about it. 

Forgot about it and blocked it. Forgot convincing himself that this was normal about how the man ogled him in the swimming pool, purposefully gave him too big swimming trunks so that they would fall... And he could watch and think about touching him...No. Barry forgot about what the man had almost done. About what he wanted to do. 

Barry backed away from Bruce, his expression transformed into one of horror. Bruce's face suddenly was the one of hated foster father, and he was touching him, again, even after he thought he was free. Barry sped off, away from the memories, away from him.   
“Did I do something wrong?”

Nobody could answer Bruce. 

The next day Barry came back and tried to be his usual self, but everybody knew that something had changed, something was off. Nobody believed that he had left because he had something on the oven. It had to do with the touch, that much was clear. 

From that onward, no one (except Diana, for some reason) could touch Barry, and he flinched with his whole body when somebody else got too close. But he refused to tell why it was, what had happened, what had changed.

Diana decided to get him one on one. Maybe if it was just her, the boy would find it easier to talk. 

“You have to speak to us, Barry, we are your team. And we are worried. At least talk to me, yes?”

Barry sighed. Maybe telling Diana would be good, free him a bit of this weight that was on his shoulders. And telling just her would be easier than telling everyone and having to see their reaction. And maybe she would tell them and he could go back to pretending he never remembered, and that didn't happen. 

His eyes were bright with unshed tears and Diana felt an incredible urge to hug him, rock him, but she decided against it. Barry's voice trembled and broke as tried to speak about it.

“I don't even... I shouldn't be like this... He didn't... They stopped him before... but he was so close...I'm sorry, I”

“You don't need to apologise, Barry. Being troubled by a traumatic experience like that is nothing to be ashamed of, and you are allowed to your pain. I am sorry it happened to you.”

Barry let a couple of tears fall, and hastily wiped them away. Diana looked understanding, and Barry was exceedingly grateful for her. Some of the others wouldn't have got angry, talked about making the man pay, he knew, and that was not what he wanted. Diana offered no judgement, no anger, no desire for revenge. Just honest sorrow and companionship. 

“You want me to tell the others?”

Barry nodded, trying to gather himself. 

“Tell Bruce that it was not his fault, that he didn't do anything wrong. I just... kind older man... touching me... I couldn't...”

“I'll tell him. And if or when you want we can find some of those therapy people to help you work through it, yes? But only if you want, you can always come to me.”

“Thank you, Diana.”

Two days later a Bruce with bags under his eyes approached him doubtfully and said:

“Just wanted to tell you... You foster father died in prison a couple of years after the incident with you. It wasn't a good environment for a child molester. Just... though you should know.”

Barry just nodded, suddenly lost for words. 

He didn't feel happy about the man's death, but he was relieved that he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else. That he while he was oblivious, not remembering anything he'd spent most of his time on his prison, then gone. It didn't take away what happened to him, but it was one of the best possible alternatives. His fellow foster kids hadn't suffered his “love and affection”. Good. 

“Sorry I freaked out on you.”

“Hey, if there's anyone who can understand childhood trauma, it's yours truly. But apology accepted”

Barry smiled and left. 

Bruce didn't tell him how he'd had every intention of killing the man himself after what Diana told them. Didn't tell him that Arthur had agreed to be his alibi, and help him on anything else he needed. 

No one was allowed to touch their boy if he didn't want to. 

No one.


	9. Suplica (forced to beg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a prommpt in my tumblr, again.

The guy had a dented collar on his neck and was enjoying shocking Barry, making him weak, breaking him. He'd had him for the two longest hour of his life, and had suppressed Barry's speed with something in that collar. And kept shocking him, and Barry screamed and screamed, but the man continued.

 

“Little fast boy. You and your freak friends think your the bosses of the universe, huh? Well, not anymore. I am the boss, and you all have to bow down to me.”

 

Barry looked up with defiant eyes and man shocked him, for a longer time now, and made him fall to his knees. The pain coursed through him, bruned him on the inside, and Barry knew that his super healing wouldn't work while he had that collar on. Damn the advanced technology of that mob leader.

 

“You are mine now, little fast boy, and you will do as I please.”

 

“Never.”

 

Another shock. Barry spit out blood and his eyes were wet. _No,_ he thought to himself, _don't give him the pleasure._

 

“Beg me to stop.”

 

“Never.”

 

It wasn't a simple matter of pride (he was smarter than that) it was also a matter of winning time, stalling so that the others would have time to get him. Stalling before this man took more drastic measures, and killed him once and for all. But before that he wanted Barry to beg, And he had no intention of giving the man that pleasure.

 

The next shock was so long, when it finished Barry threw up blood and bile. But he couldn't give in. He look at the mess on the floor, his own blood and puke and saliva. He knew that his face was probably a mess, and thought those lifestyle magazines “your twenties are the happiest years of your life, make the most out of them.”. Well, at least he was living a new experience, right?

 

The man came closer to Barry.

 

“Admit that I am the boss of you. Admit that I control you, and I control Gotham and Central city. BEG ME. TO STOP.”

 

Barry spit up blood on the man's face, who just slapped Barry.

 

Barry smiled.

 

“You made me do this, little fast boy. This is on you.”

 

And then he went to a small room in the back, and came out with a woman blindfolded and with her hands tied behind her back.

 

“Mrs Kent!”

 

“Barry, honey, is that you?”

 

Shit, this was bad. Barry could take all the abuse that was needed, he had no problem with that, but sweet Mrs. Kent, who made chocolate for everyone, who fixed his coat, the unofficial mom of the whole justice league... This was wrong.

 

There was another collar on the man's hand.

 

“Beg me, or she gets the other pretty necklace.”

 

No, no, no, no!

 

There was another shock, and Barry cried out, his head to distracted to be able to restrain it.

 

“Barry!” Mrs. Kent said, terror in her voice.

 

“You wouldn't want her to feel that, would you?”

 

Barry looked up, defeated.

 

“Please don't.”

 

“What was that? Speak up, little fast boy.”

 

“You are the boss. I am begging to stop... please stop.” Barry said. And the man got closer to him, with a triumphant smile on his face.

 

“Say it to my ear. Closer, little fast boy, louder.”

 

“Please...”

 

Barry used the closeness to knock the man out using his own head, and the man fell on the floor, lifeless.

 

He was seeing stars now, his whole world spinning, but he'd made it. _Who's the boss now?_ He thought, victorious.

 

“Barry? What happened?”

 

Right. Mrs Kent. She was there too. 

 

Barry instructed her on how to take the little knife on the unconscious man's pocket to undo her binding and so she did. She nearly had a fit when she saw Barry's magnled face, but tried to put her horror aside to get Barry out of that collar.

 

By the time the others came the man was bound and gagged, being taken by the police and Martha was making a salve for Barry's injuries, even if Barry insisted they would heal in minutes.

 

“What happened?” Clark asked, confused.

 

“I showed him who is the boss.” Barry said, with a broken bruised smile that could only be described as endearing.

 

“Sure you did, Barry.” Martha said, suddenly very grateful that such a boy as that even existed. “Sure you did.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked! Thanks for reading! Whumpy requests welcome :)
> 
> Feedback gives me lifeeeeeeee!!! And strength in the many bad moments 
> 
> So, if you liked, tell me? Thanks again! :)


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